We talk about a lot of things as if they didn’t reflect a real person and a real life.
Addiction is one of them. And let me just tell you, every single number is a life and behind every single life is a family.
Statistics are easy to toss around until one of those numbers represents YOUR child.
My son was not an addict. He was a health nut. But he liked his motorcycle and never saw the contradiction between spending hours at the gym then putting that beautiful body on a fast moving, unprotected engine-on-wheels. A helmet was not enough to save him that night.
Addicts don’t start out wanting the life so many of them end up living.
When it first happened all I could think about was getting through a minute, then a day and then all the decisions and days leading up to a funeral or memorial service.
There’s no road map.
Even when others come alongside (and many, many did!) there’s just no easy way to navigate that part of the journey.
And then I realized that in addition to all the “regular” days that absolutely, positively break your heart, I had to forge a path through “special” days.
It was overwhelming!
Mother’s Day was especially challenging that first year. Our loss was fresh and we’d had to acknowledge and celebrate two graduations and a wedding was about a month away. How in the world could I honor my living children and also safeguard my broken heart?
We muddled through by having Mother’s Day at my daughter’s apartment co-hosted by some of her sweetest and most compassionate friends. Not a lot of fanfare, but good food, good company and a quiet acknowledgment of Dom’s absence but also my living children’s presence.
It was a gift.
This is my tenth Mother’s Day. Every year is different. Every year presents new challenges and every year things change.
Since discovering there is an International Bereaved Mother’s Day my heart has taken advantage of having a day to think about and honor Dominic and then another day to think about and honor my living children.
That helps.
I wrote this post seven years ago but can’t really improve on it so I’ll share it again. I pray that each heart who finds Mother’s Day hard will lean in and take hold of the hem of His garment.
I know that you never-in your wildest imagination-thought you would need a day set aside for your broken heart and your empty arms.
Who thinks when they learn a new life is growing inside that this same life might be cut short? What heart is brave enough to consider the possibility?
While I’ve always been an introvert, I was not nearly the homebody I’ve become since my son ran ahead to heaven.
Now staying in, carefully planning social events and obligations, leaving a few days between high-energy gatherings and just generally pacing myself is the norm.
I’m truly not anti-social. I love my people. I love seeing them and talking to them.
But since there’s only so much energy to go around I AM selectively social.
❤ Melanie
Grief changes lots of things.
I am simply not able to spend energy on frivolous and marginally meaningful social activities anymore.
I’m sure that hurts some folks feelings and I am truly sorry.
We carry, birth and raise children expecting them to outlive US not that we will outlive THEM.
From the first cute bow in her hair or his first awkward toss of a football, we begin to dream of where time, talent and hard work might take these little ones.
So when death cruelly robs our hearts not only of the physical company of our child but also of the dreams we had for him or her, it’s more than a double blow.
Because we cannot escape all the reminders that blaze across our social media feeds or the advertisements shouting at us screaming, “He will never wed!” or “She will never graduate!”.
So if you are struggling, you’re not alone.
❤ Melanie
Almost anyone you ask anticipates that Thanksgiving and Christmas, two family-centered holidays, are difficult days and seasons for bereaved parents.
And they are.
Especially for families that enjoyed special times around the table, unhurried visits reminiscing about years past and traditions that reinforce the unique heritage of their shared history.
But this time of year is also challenging for me and many other parents who have lost a child.
So much of the “faith” handed down today through Sunday School lessons and sermons is one that simply doesn’t leave room for mystery or for doubt or, honestly, for many of the actual Bible stories if you read them straight from the Book and not get them second hand from a loose retelling .
Jesus Himself-the exact representation of the Father (Hebrews 1:3)-didn’t greet skeptics with absolute proof. He pointed to the work He was doing, the truth He was telling and the miracles He performed but He left it to the audience to decide if that qualified Him as the Christ.
Yet we treat those who bring questions to the table of grace at best as immature and at worst as apostates or faithless wannabes.
This came up in one of our closed groups again: That friend who thinks that because we have endured the worst, we are somehow uniquely equipped to listen to and bear up under their fear of the worst.
If your child survives a car crash, some other terrible accident or illness-please, please know that NO ONE is happier than I am you are spared. Let me “like/love/whatever” your post in support.
But don’t DM me with a list of “what could have happened”.
I already know. I’m living it.
❤ Melanie
Dear Mom Whose Son Survived the Accident,
I want you to know that I am beyond thankful that you will be spared my pain. I prayed for your son as you requested-begged God to spare him.
They say misery love companybut I say misery loves comfort.
It’s hard to explain to anyone who is not part of the child loss community that even though we would NEVER have chosen to join their ranks, these folks are some of the most amazing, compassionate and ENCOURAGING people in the world.
I just got home from Lynchburg, exhausted and definitely looking forward to rest, but also encouraged and excited to keep company in person and online with some of these brave souls.
It was an amazing two days sharing hearts and stories, getting to hug necks and spending time listening to parents speak about their precious children.
I am always encouraged when I look around a room and see real conversations taking place between two earnest faces who are clearly experiencing “me too” moments.
So, so much grace, comfort, love and compassion flowed!
Oh, there were tears but there was also lots and lots of laughter.
Lots of conversation around meals and coffee.
We were free to speak aloud many of the words we are so often forced to swallow in daily life. No one was shocked anyone was *still* missing his or her child or slept with her daughter’s pillow, a toddler’s stuffie or in their son’s old t-shirt.
We rehearsed THAT MOMENT and how it divided time into before and after.
Knowing glances passed when one mama shared how painful it is to have family never mention her boy. And again when a dad asked about what to do with all the anger he felt.
NO explanation necessary.
We understand.
What a joy to help other parents hold onto the hope I have in Jesus and His promises to redeem and restore what the enemy has stolen and destroyed.
I witnessed hearts knit together in sorrow and love.
thelifeididntchoose 